Steve Cline Mysteries - 01 - At Risk

by Kit Ehrman

  Easier said than done.

  She felt perfect in my arms, a perfect fit with all those wonderful curves that are so uniquely female. I stopped before I blew it, but she was smiling just the same. Amazing how the slightest tension, a subtle movement, little more than thought, could be sensed by an observant partner. I said good night before the love turned into good old-fashioned lust.

  I watched her taillights disappear around a curve. She hadn't said "I love you." Not yet.

  But I could wait.

  Wait forever.

  I didn't have to wait for Michael. By the time I'd finished checking the buildings, he was ready to go. I dumped his gear in the bed of my truck and cleared a space on the front seat. He climbed in without comment, and I drove past the gates.

  After I'd locked them and pulled onto Rocky Ford, Michael said, "They must be a nuisance."

  "Yes, but a necessary one."

  He looked at me for a moment, then changed the subject. "That woman, the one who brought my dinner. She's a trip."

  I grinned. "She is that. I saw her follow you to the barn. How'd you get rid of her?" I asked because Michael had returned to the arena almost immediately.

  Michael chuckled. "I told her I preferred men . . ."

  My fingers tightened on the steering wheel. "And do you?"

  He chuckled. "Shit, no. Don't have a coronary on me, now." He leaned back in his seat and yawned. "I've dealt with women like her before. It's a weird sort of groupie thing. As soon as you're even moderately well-known, they put the make on you. Young girls, too."

  My eyebrows rose. "I had no idea."

  "Oh, I don't know about that. She got to you, didn't she?"

  I glanced at him, and the Chevy's back tire dropped off the edge of the road. I gripped the steering wheel hard and dragged the truck back onto the pavement.

  "Why do you think that?" If he could see it, so could everyone else. So could Rachel.

  "I saw your face when you first caught sight of her. You looked, well . . . like you do now."

  I sighed. "I didn't realize it was so obvious."

  "Oh, don't get me wrong. It was just a timing thing. After that initial look of pure terror, I wouldn't have suspected a thing. Let's put it this way. I knew something was up, just didn't know what." He chuckled. "I was hard pressed to keep a straight face when I saw what had you shittin' your pants."

  I groaned.

  "She's somethin' else, I'll say that." He shook his head and shifted on the seat. "Enough to make you come just lookin' at her."

  She was that.

  "I take it Rachel doesn't know?" he said.

  "No."

  "Hmm. How many times?"

  "Once."

  He shrugged. "Maybe you'll be okay."

  "I don't know." I slowed as we approached a sharp curve. "Girls are funny about stuff like that."

  "True. It wouldn't do any good to tell her, but . . . Well, I wouldn't trust that woman. She might tell Rachel herself, or do something to make it obvious. Hell, she might even make it out to be more than it was."

  Like those thoughts hadn't been squirreling round my head ever since that night in the feed room. I couldn't walk in there without thinking about it, though most of the time, I'd go over the entire encounter in my head and get horny as hell. Other times I'd walk in there and feel claustrophobic.

  "Why didn't you, eh . . . take advantage of the opportunity?" I said.

  "I'm serious about someone right now, plus, you do that too much, you end with a reputation you--"

  "You keep using your particular put-off, you'll have a different reputation to contend with."

  "Come on, Steve. Don't you know that in this business, if you aren't a steer-ropin', tobacco-spittin', boot-stompin' cowboy, you've probably got that reputation already?"

  I grinned. "Awh shit, man."

  I pulled into the parking space behind the foaling barn and turned off the engine. Since all the mares had foaled, Greg's foaling man no longer worked nights. The barn was dark.

  "You don't," Michael said, "live in a barn?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "Jesus. I gave up sleeping in the trailer for this?"

  "'Fraid so."

  He jerked up on the door handle with more force than necessary and hopped out. His expectations rose slightly as we climbed the steps to the loft. The view across the horse pastures, even at night, was awe-inspiring. The moon had just crested the tree line and looked huge. A swath of white glimmered on the lake.

  I opened the door and turned on the lights.

  Michael stepped through the doorway and paused. "Well, who'd've thought?" He dumped his duffel bag on the floor and took off his jacket. "Nice place. No privacy though. You ever gonna hang curtains?"

  "One day."

  "I feel like I'm in a goddamned fish bowl." He walked into the living room/bedroom. "You have something against furniture, too?"

  "Hardly."

  Michael snorted.

  "When it comes down to spending money on something to sit on or something to eat, I'll choose eat every time. Speaking of which . . ." I rummaged through the cabinets and settled on Spicy Doritos and microwaveable popcorn. I plunked two cans of Coke and the bag of chips on the island counter and filled two glasses with ice.

  "What's this about?" Michael said.

  A stack of flyers I hadn't gotten around to giving Greg was lying on top of a pile of magazines. Michael held one in his hand.

  I told him about James Peters and the thefts and about Pennsylvania, then I asked him if he'd heard of anything that sounded even remotely related.

  He shook his head as he gathered up the sheets and tapped them down on the countertop until they were organized into a neat pile. "No wonder you were so pigheaded about me sleeping in the trailer?"

  "Yeah, well, now you know." I looked down at the popcorn in my hand and was no longer hungry. I dumped it in the trash.

  "This guy, Peters. They didn't have to kill him, did they?" Michael said. "Not unless he could identify them." He ran his fingers up and down the smooth, cold surface of his glass. The ice shifted and settled. "They've got to have some horse connections, too. Some outlet for getting rid of the horses they take, and the tack. But you didn't recognize them?"

  "No, but they were wearing masks." I stood abruptly. "I'm going to take a shower."

  He glanced up at me and frowned. "Can I use your weights? Sitting all day drives me nuts."

  "Sure," I said. "Want some music on?"

  "What kind?"

  "Pick something out."

  He checked what was in the CD player and said it would do. When he turned it on, the volume was cranked way up.

  He fumbled with the knobs and turned it down. "You deaf?"

  "What?"

  He grinned and shook his head. "At this rate, you'll be deaf by the time you're fifty."

  "Yeah, well, what if I die when I'm forty-nine, and I've gone through life keeping the volume down to save my hearing?"

  "You're crazy."

  "So I've been told."

  When I got out of the shower, Michael was finishing up a set. His hair was damp, and sweat glistened on his skin. He settled the bar in the rack and sat up. "Were you expecting company?"

  "No." I glanced at the clock on the stove. It was well after midnight. "Why?"

  He shrugged. "I heard a noise and thought there was someone on the deck, but--"

  "How long ago?" My voice sounded tight.

  "Five minutes, maybe less."

  I yanked on my sneakers, grabbed a flashlight, and pushed through the kitchen door with Michael on my heels. I took the stairs two at a time and switched on the barn lights. The metal bracket by the light switch was empty.

  "Shit." I spun around and almost knocked into Michael.

  "What's wrong?" he said.

  "Fire extinguisher's gone."

  I scanned the parking lot, then ran around the corner of the barn and shone the light along the fence line. No fire extinguisher. I ran part-way dow
n the narrow lawn between the fence and barn and panned the light across the grass. The extinguisher was lying in the darker shadows along the barn's foundation. I tossed the flashlight to Michael, scooped up the extinguisher, and ran into the barn aisle.

  I stopped abruptly. "Do you smell that?"

  Michael nodded. His face was pale.

  The horses were out for the night. All the stall doors were open, and nothing looked out of place.

  I turned slowly toward the feed room door, then flattened my palm on the smooth wood. It was cool to the touch. I put my hand on the doorknob. The metal felt warm against my skin, and I wondered if it was my imagination.

  I stood to the side and opened the door.

  A fire was smoldering in the far corner of the room. It flared with the inrush of air. Flames shot up the wall as I fumbled with the extinguisher's seal. I pulled out the pin and aimed the nozzle at the base of the fire. When the foam hit the flames, they hissed and billowed upward.

  I yelled at Michael. "Run down the other end of the barn and see if that extinguisher's still there."

  He took off, his face no longer white but orange in the fire's glow.

  I gagged on the smoke.

  I had never used an extinguisher before and had no idea how long it would last. I crouched down where the air was a bit clearer and squinted through the smoke. The heat was intense on my bare skin. I inched back toward the door. Greg didn't need this. And where the hell was Michael?

  "Come on, Michael!" I yelled.

  The extinguisher sputtered.

  "Come on, damn it."

  The light bulb in the ceiling fixture exploded, and I jumped.

  Damn it, what was taking him so long?

  Michael stepped through the doorway with the extinguisher in his hand. His face was covered with sweat, and he was out of breath. He fumbled with the pin.

  A ceiling panel curled downward, then fell softly to the floor, bringing with it a shower of sparks. Michael got his extinguisher going just as mine emptied out.

  "I'll be right back," I yelled.

  I ran down the aisle and skidded to a stop alongside the spigot. I turned the pressure on full and ran backward, uncoiling the hose as I went. Michael was holding his own, but the fire was stubborn. I turned the nozzle full-on. The water sizzled when it hit the flames, and smoke mushroomed toward us. We backed up.

  When the last of the fire was out, the barn was suddenly quiet except for our breathing and the sound of water dripping off the rafters. We stared in at the gutted feed room as a stream of black water spread past our feet and meandered down the barn aisle.

  I set the hose down.

  Michael's sweat pants and shirt were streaked with soot. His face, too. I looked down at my bare chest and arms and legs, at my shorts that had once been white but would never be again and started to giggle. In a minute or two, we were both laughing so hard, my side hurt.

  Michael set his extinguisher at the base of the wall and shivered. "God, that was awful."

  I took a deep breath, which brought on a spasm of coughing. I nodded and braced my hands against the wall. When I caught my breath, I said, "Do you remember what the person looked like?"

  "Hell, I wasn't even sure there was a person. It was more an impression that someone was there, it was that quick."

  I went back into the feed room and examined the damage which, to my untrained eyes, appeared superficial. "They must not have planned this," I said.

  "Why do you think that?"

  "If they had, we wouldn't have had a prayer of stopping it ourselves." Or getting out alive, but I didn't say that. "They would have brought gasoline or something like it to speed up the process. Greg, the guy who owns this place, is fanatical about keeping the barn neat. He doesn't stockpile any chemicals or hay or let piles of junk accumulate around the barn. The fire hadn't spread much before I opened the door."

  "What do you think they were planning?"

  "I don't know."

  He snorted. "When they saw you had company, they changed their plans."

  I blinked.

  "God, Steve. You'd better watch your back."

  I rubbed my face. I didn't feel safe at work, not at night anyway, and now I wouldn't feel safe in my own home. Not until Ralston rounded them up. We went upstairs, and I phoned Greg and told him to come down to the foaling barn. He didn't ask why.

  We met in the parking lot. When he was close enough to see us, his face went white.

  "What the hell?"

  "Someone started a fire in the feed room."

  He skirted past me and stopped in the doorway. He looked relieved, as well he might. "How do you know it wasn't electrical?"

  "The fire extinguishers were outside," I said, "in the grass."

  His face paled even more. He looked back into the feed room and muttered, "God."

  That just about summed it up.

  When Greg turned around, he seemed to notice Michael for the first time. I made introductions. Greg was still dressed in the navy blue coveralls he wore to work.

  "How long have you been home?" I said.

  "About an hour. Had an emergency colic."

  "Did you notice any vehicles parked where they shouldn't have been? Anything that strikes you odd, now?"

  He shook his head. "No. To tell the truth, I was half asleep. Three nights in a row I've been out on calls. If I'd seen anything unusual, I would've checked it out."

  "No! Don't!"

  They both looked at me in surprise, then Greg with understanding.

  "You, more than anyone, ought to know." Greg stepped back into the feed room and tested the phone. The line ran up the wall along the doorjamb, and it still worked. He called the police.

  Michael turned to me. "What did he mean by 'you ought to know?'"

  I shrugged. "Beats me."

  "You're a terrible liar, you know that?"

  "No, I'm not."

  "Yes, you are."

  I crossed my arms over my chest. "Damn, it's cold."

  Michael chuckled. "Stop changing the subject."

  Greg stepped out of the feed room and gave him a look that shut him up pretty quick. Michael looked at the floor and cleared his throat. I suggested we go upstairs.

  The authorities arrived in time, poked around the feed room, took statements, then left, leaving behind a clutter of empty coffee mugs and soft drink cans.

  I picked the empties off the counter and tossed them in the trash. "I'm sorry about all this, Greg."

  "It wasn't your fault. Hell, your quick reactions kept the whole barn from burning down." He stood up and stretched. "If you're worried about sleeping here, you could stay at the house for a while."

  I thanked him for his offer but declined immediately. The skin around his eyes seemed to relax, and I realized he was relieved. His good nature had moved him to ask, but if danger was following me around, his house was the last place I should be. More than anything, he had his kids to think about.

  Greg yawned. "What about your parents'?"

  "I'll work something out," I said, but I didn't have a clue.

  Chapter 18

  It was three-thirty by the time Greg headed home. I asked Michael if he still wanted to go in early.

  "Might as well," he said. "Too late to get any sleep now."

  He was right, of course. "Should have gone to a hotel, huh?"

  "Damn right . . . but I'm glad I didn't."

  "Why, for Christ's sake?"

  "If we weren't talking, if I hadn't thought I'd seen someone on the deck, you might have been asleep when the fire broke out . . . or when they came through the door."

  I didn't say anything.

  I scrambled some eggs while Michael toasted half a loaf of bread.

  When he'd downed his third slice, he said, "You trust your landlord?"

  "What?"

  "You said he knows some of the players. Maybe he's involved. Maybe he--"

  "No way. You don't know what you're talking about. Plus, it's only natural tha
t he'd know a lot of people in the industry."

  Michael shrugged.

  "He even offered me a place to stay."

  "Sure. Forget it. Like you said, I don't know him. You going to tell Rachel what happened?"

  "I don't think so."

  "You should. She's a nice girl, and she cares for you, but she doesn't like it when you keep things from her. Especially your feelings. She senses that you're holding out on her as far as your concerns go about what's happening at the farm, so--"

  "How come you know so much?"

  "We talked. Anyway," Michael continued, "I fixed it for you."

  I lowered the glass of orange juice from my lips. "What, exactly, did you fix?"

  "Let's see." He propped his elbows on the counter and yawned. "I told her that you're naturally reticent. That you avoid anything that even slightly resembles pity, that you have a major fear of failure despite the fact that you can't resist taking risks. You have an overwhelming desire to prove yourself. Oh, and you're embarrassed by strong emotions." He looked over the rim of his coffee mug. "And, your mouth's open."

  I shut it. "Where the hell'd you come up with that load of crap?"

  "Observing you. I took psych before I left school. Ultimately, I found that I prefer horses to most people. They're much nicer to work with."

  "Good thing you gave it up. You're lousy at it."

  "Not true." He wiped the corners of his mouth with his fingertips. "Keep that girl, Steve. And let her in more."

  "Yes, sir."

  I jammed my last bite of toast in my mouth and dumped the dishes in the sink. "Let's hit the road."

  Michael frowned at his half-full cup of coffee. "Why the rush?"

  "I want to check the farm, make sure your horses are okay."

  He jumped up, and I saw that my alarm was infectious. "I now see why you've pursued an offensive."

  * * *

  At Foxdale, everything was secure. I fixed myself a cup of coffee and watched Michael run a quick brush over the horse's coat before sliding the saddle into place, seeing firsthand that the perfection evident in his horses' grooming had nothing to do with his efforts but with his groom's. When he led the chestnut down to the outdoor arena, I slumped onto a bench. My eyelids felt like sandpaper, and my head ached.

  I closed my eyes and thought of all that had happened since that frigid morning in February. The three men and the fear they had wielded like a weapon. The horses on a fast trip to death. Sanders and his questionable remorse over a horse he'd thought of as an object and had been careful to insure. Harrison's driver and his drunken anger. Blood dripping from my nose. The bulldozers' throaty rumble as they cut into the brown earth and the realization that Foxdale would never be the same. Boris hanging from the rafters, his life blood draining from a slash in his throat.